Dedication
For my sisters:
Ellen
Jenna
Asia
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
AUGUST, PRESENT DAY
Twelve years old
The night I saw Dr. Leo Lacamoire, I was looking at the stars.
“Abby! Did you take my sweatshirt?”
Lyra, the lyre. That’s a fancy word for harp. Sagittarius, the archer.
“Abby, I know you can hear me. Sweatshirt. Now!”
Scorpius, the scorpion. That one was always tricky.
“Abby!”
Just as I located Delphinus, the dolphin, my sister burst into the attic, her hair falling out of her ponytail and into her eyes.
“I am going to be late to work if I don’t leave five minutes ago, and I know you stole that sweatshirt.” Jade was sixteen, four years older than me. She had blond hair with a purple streak and some boy’s number scribbled on her palm. She popped popcorn at the movie theater three nights a week.
“I don’t have your stupid sweatshirt.” I did.
“You do!” Jade could read my mind. Or it was obvious. She was used to me being a liar. That’s important to remember: sometimes, I lie.
“It’s cold out,” I whined. “Dad and I are going to the park tonight.”
“I don’t care if you’re going to see Harry Styles! It’s my uniform.” The movie theater usually jacked the air-conditioning up so high, all the employees got thick fleeces to wear. I was always stealing Jade’s. And her scarves, and her eyeliner, and anything else I could swipe. It was my sisterly duty, really.
“It’s in my closet,” I grumbled, and she stomped out. Jade and I shared a bedroom. Which was half the reason I spent most of my time in the attic. The other half was the stars.
My oldest sister, Blair, used to have her own room. Now it was empty. I didn’t have to steal from her; she’d just let me borrow stuff. Jade would have kept a padlock on her closet if Mom let her.
Jade, again: “Dad says if you want to go, you need to get your butt downstairs. He’s tired.”
I peered into the telescope once more, to get one last glance at Delphinus. But my elbow had hit my telescope when I turned to talk to Jade. Instead of pointing me toward the night sky, it had swung down to Eagle’s Nest, one of the nicest cabins my parents owned. It was right across the street from our house. So I didn’t see the cluster of stars that someone had at one point thought resembled a sea creature. I saw one of the brightest stars in the entire universe—Dr. Leo Lacamoire himself, staring out across the lake that went on for miles.
But I didn’t yet know that it was Dr. Leo Lacamoire. I didn’t know why his gaze was fixed out on the water. I only knew that he looked like a man a little older than my dad, with a scratchy beard and pasty skin. I only knew that he seemed incredibly sad, and that now—
He was looking at me.
I ducked. Like a total idiot. Crap! Not good, not good, not good. I wasn’t trying to be a snoop, but I clearly had a freaking telescope pointed at the guy’s cabin. He was going to call the office and report a twelve-year-old creeper, and my mom would kill me.
Our family owned Camp McCourt—a bunch of cabins, a bar, and a dock—in Moose Junction, Wisconsin. Tourists came from all over the Midwest to hunt, fish, and see the stars at night. We’d had a few famous people visit over the years—the governor, some guy who had been in a handful of cheese commercials, and the couple that owned eighty-two frozen custard spots around the country who’d fought louder than firecrackers all weekend. Our fanciest guests stayed in Eagle’s Nest. It had satellite TV and heated floors. Dr. Leo Lacamoire had chosen it online, reading all the reviews and details and photos. He had picked Camp McCourt over Paul Bunyan’s, across the lake, or Cubby Lodge, which had great breakfasts but no direct lake access. He had looked up the cabins on Google Earth, checking out at the views to find out from which he could best see the libr—
No! We aren’t at that part of the story yet. I didn’t know what Dr. Leo Lacamoire was looking at, not that night. I only knew that there was a man at Eagle’s Nest who had seen me spying. I only knew my butt was fried if my mom found out. But I also knew that there was something about his face—that total and utter look of sadness and despair—that I had seen before.
I crept back up to the window as slowly as possible. Dr. Leo Lacamoire—then just a dude, one whose name I didn’t know and thought I never would—was not looking at me anymore. He wasn’t looking at the lake, either. He was staring at the sky.
“Mom?” I slunk into the office, which my grandparents had converted from a garage.
“What, hon?” She kept her eyes focused on the computer. “I thought you were going stargazing with Daddy.”
“I am. I just wanted to know—um—who’s staying in Eagle’s Nest?”
“I don’t know. You can look in the database. Why?”
“Just wondering. I spotted them moving in. He looked kinda familiar.” I pulled out the spare laptop and brought up our guest-tracking software.
“Abigail,” Mom said tiredly, “tell me you were not snooping through that telescope.”
“Some accidental snooping may have occurred,” I muttered, clicking on the Eagle’s Nest file. Mom was the only one who called me Abigail. I hated it.
“We’re going to get the cops called on us one of these days,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Enough with the Peeping Thomasina act!”
“It was an accident! I knocked the telescope out of place.” Scrolling . . . scrolling . . . finally. A name.
Dr. Leo Lacamoire. Paid in cash.
Dad popped his head in. He was wearing a backward baseball cap and holding two sweatshirts. “Ready, Abs?”
We took off toward Fishtrap Park, where we could set up our telescope without any cabin lights getting in the way. As we walked past Eagle’s Nest, I glanced in the window, but the guy I now knew to be Dr. Leo Lacamoire wasn’t there. Instead, there was a tall black woman pacing the porch. She was older than Blair, but not as old as my mom.
“Excuse me?” The woman stopped abruptly and bounded down the steps. “Are you the owner of this place?”
Dad smiled. “That would be me. Gary McCourt.” He held out his hand and she shook it. My dad liked a firm handshake, and I could tell she delivered one.
“Simone Sinclair. We have an issue,” she said, looking concerned.
“An issue?” asked Dad.
“There’s a raccoon under the porch.” She pointed. “We heard him all night scratching at the door, trying to get in.”
“Hmm,” said Dad slowly. “A raccoon issue.”
“A big, fat, angry raccoon issue.”
That’s when I knew: Dr. Leo Lacamoire and Simone Sinclair? They weren’t from Wisconsin. Mom and Dad always rolled their eyes at the tourists who came and were surprised at things like raccoons or coyotes.
“What do they want us to do, Gary?” Mom had asked a million times. “Go out with a slingshot and personally eliminate every mosquito in the no
rthern hemisphere? You’re in the woods. We have bugs here.”
“I don’t mean to cause, you know, a problem. It’s just really keeping my boss up all night,” said Simone. “And when he’s up all night, he’s not exactly a joy to be around. You know what I’m saying?”
“I do,” said Dad seriously. “But the raccoon hasn’t gotten into the cabin?”
“Well, no. But its nest or something has to be under the porch.”
“Den,” said Dad.
“What?”
“Raccoons live in dens, not nests,” he said. “But! Your point has been noted. I’ll get someone over here first thing tomorrow morning to do a clean sweep.”
“Thank you,” she said, pressing her hands together. “I really appreciate it. Seriously.”
We kept walking, mostly in silence. I liked the nighttime lake noises—the loons calling and the waves lapping and the thump, thump of our footsteps. When we got to Fishtrap Park, my dad got the telescope on the stand while I tipped my head back and looked up.
If you want to catch stars, here’s what you need to remember: you have to go somewhere dark. When I was a kid, we went on vacation to New York City. We couldn’t see a single star in the sky because of all the lights. There’s too much for them to compete with. You need to be in total darkness, where they’re the only things worth looking at. And once you find the perfect stargazing spot, those stars go on for miles and miles, sparkling and winking and dotting the sky. It’s like being in a whole new world when the stars are out, a world that doesn’t have homework or mean girls or mosquito bites. I loved the stars, and the planets, and anything to do with the sky. Jade always said she could never see any of the constellations, but she just didn’t know where to look. When she used to come along with Dad and me, her eyes were always on her phone, or down the road, as if waiting for something more interesting to pop out of nowhere. As if something could be more interesting than our very own galaxy.
“You ready?” asked Dad. “Three weeks.”
I nodded. There was going to be a solar eclipse above North America, and little old Moose Junction had been named as the place to catch it at full totality. The moon would block the sun, and for a few minutes, it would be completely dark in the middle of the day. Our cabins had been booked for months, and there was going to be a huge viewing party on Main Street. The night of, Star Wars: A New Hope would be played on a huge projector to celebrate.
“Coontail’s in town is already sold out of eclipse glasses, but hopefully they’ll get another big shipment in,” said Dad, adjusting the telescope height. “Safety first and all that.”
“It’s gonna be awesome,” I said. Dad and I were the star people in our family. He taught astronomy during the school year at the community college three towns over. Mom and Jade usually thought the star maps scattered all over the attic were a bit much, but even they were stoked for the eclipse. Blair had been excited, too, before it all went to crap and she had to leave.
The telescope in the attic had been my twelfth birthday present last fall. I loved astronomy. It was basically just math in the sky. Everything could be measured or figured out or discovered with the right amount of time.
Because a person can have enough of passion, okay? Enough of art. A person can become tired of words like fury and fate and destiny and just want an answer. A person can want a world without big, wild, all-consuming feelings sometimes. Science was A + B = C, and maybe you didn’t know what C was, but you knew you could figure it out. Blair had been a dancer. It was her passion, she had said a million times, convincing Mom she needed to drop out of school and take private lessons. But the way the music had swept her into a swirling mess of hopes and dreams? I never wanted to feel like that in my life. I’d seen how it chewed you up and spat you out. Passion was one of those things that seemed so beautiful from far away, until you got up close and it reached its hands out to grab you.
“It’s really something, isn’t it?” said Dad, peering at the moon. “Of all the places in the world, Moose Junction is the place to be this summer.” Sure, we were known for our squeaky cheese curds and our musky competitions. But it’s not like people from the coasts were usually clamoring to spend their summer here.
Mom and Dad never told me much about business, but I knew that as more and more people wanted to go to places like Florida and Hawaii, fewer people were coming to the Northwoods. I didn’t really get why—if you’re going to be in the water, wouldn’t you rather have a dock than sand? And be surrounded by trees instead of hotels? Sure, you can catch a glimpse of the constellations anywhere. But the total lack of real highways or skyscrapers made seeing them here something special. I also knew that this summer was going to be a huge boost for my parents. I’d heard Mom call the eclipse a gift from God while sorting through cabin deposits.
Jade could hate on where we lived—and she did—but from here, we could see the stars. That was what mattered to me.
“Come on, kiddo,” said Dad. “I have a big meeting at City Hall in the morning.” Dad was on the town selectman council for Moose Junction, and every month they had a meeting to decide on taxes and tourism and other boring stuff. I mean, I knew it was important—but I was also glad I didn’t have to talk about any of it. As we walked back, we could see our breath with every exhale. Even in early August, the nights got so chilly around Moose Junction that you could find yourself wishing for some mittens. When we passed in front of Eagle’s Nest, Simone was gone from the porch, and the house was completely dark.
“Gary! Abby!” Harrison waved from across the dirt road. He was one of our regulars; he came every August and stayed in Bluebird. “Stargazing? What a great night for it.”
“Getting ready for the big eclipse,” said Dad. “We can’t wait.”
“My two kids are coming that week. It’s truly going to be something, isn’t it? Hey, by the way, how’s Blair doing? I heard about—well . . . I heard.”
Blair McCourt. Eighteen years old, shiny brown hair, white teeth, sparkly eyes, ballerina, straight-A student, golden child. Man, that girl’s going places, they used to say in town when she walked by. My sister and my best friend and my favorite person in the world.
Well, she sure went somewhere. Harvest Hills Center for Eating Disorders, where they could teach her how to eat again. Not exactly New York City.
Everyone was always asking about Blair in these sad voices. Father Peter Patrick would grip Mom’s hands after Mass and say he was praying for Blair. She always smiled and said thank you, but I could tell it made her feel weird. I mean, a whole town of people knowing your personal, private business is just strange, even when they’re trying to be nice about it. It’s like she was worried he was going to bring Blair up in a sermon or something.
Everybody needs their secrets. That’s all I’m saying.
Dad just smiled. He was good in tense situations. Something about his eyes made everyone feel calmer. “She’s doing well, Harrison. Thanks for asking. Hopefully coming home in the next few weeks here.”
“Good. Good. You tell her to stay strong in there.”
“Okay. We will. Good night now.”
When we got home, I kissed Mom good night and headed to the attic. I had a hard time sleeping unless Jade was home, so I usually waited up for her with my eye through the telescope. I went to it, still pointed at Eagle’s Nest, and looked through the window.
There he was, in the corner room, in the pitch-dark. Staring across the lake: Dr. Leo Lacamoire.
What’s funny about the moon is that it’s always the same size, even though we can only see slivers of it sometimes. It can be hard to see a full moon, glowing like a giant orb, and believe it’s the same moon you can only see a tiny slice of on other nights. Right then, as I looked at Dr. Leo Lacamoire, I knew that I was only seeing a tiny slice. The world would turn, and the moon would orbit, and soon I’d see the whole thing. The reason Dr. Leo Lacamoire was in Moose Junction, Wisconsin, instead of at some resort in Tahiti or teaching astronauts at
NASA. I would know the full story of the trials and tribulations of Dr. Leo Lacamoire, PhD, world-renowned scientist. But right then, that sad, sad sliver of a face was all I could see.
2
For the story to make sense, you will need to know about Blair. Telling my own story without telling Blair’s would be like looking at the stars without a telescope. Sure, you can catch a glimpse, but you’re not getting the full story.
Everyone knows about Blair, it feels like. She’s been the main character of every chapter of my life. But I don’t remember how we got from then to now, to be honest. I wish I could pinpoint a day where everything went wrong and circle it in red and drape it with yellow Caution tape. But it wasn’t a day; it was a long, drawn-out fall that crashed when it hit the bottom. I don’t even know when we slipped, I just know when we landed.
For our end-of-the-year oral biography report, Mr. Linn had told us we needed to know our subjects backward and forward. I liked that. If you really understood something, you could tell your audience what happened chronologically, and then turn around and tell it in reverse. I’d done mine on Katherine Johnson, the woman who helped calculate the trajectory of space launches for NASA. We wouldn’t have been able to send John Glenn up to the stars without her and her brain. Four other girls in class had done Amelia Earhart, and Marissa Mulligan had even worn a real leather pilot’s jacket. But nobody in our class had even known who Katherine Johnson was, except for a few kids who had seen some big movie about her, and I could tell you everything you needed to know about her, from the day she was born to where she lived today and vice versa. I got an A.
So maybe to fully understand the story of Blair, I should tell it backward.
Maybe then, you can see what we all missed.
THIS PAST MAY
Twelve years old
Exactly ten weeks before I spotted Dr. Leo Lacamoire in the window that night, our town held the Moose Junction Memorial Day Bash. As Leo poured over Google images of Moose Junction, finding the best resort to stay at, looking at pictures of the Moose Junction Public Library from every angle he could find, I pulled on a red-and-white tank top and loaded up on the bug spray. It was the beginning of summer, and you could feel it in the air, the way the sun found our pale shoulders and the turtles had returned to their log on Fishtrap Lake. The eclipse seemed ages away, an end-of-summer treat, a reward for making it through tourist season.
What Happens Next Page 1